A Little Spark of Light
by Olivesolives
Summary: She lost count on how long she spent on this wretched island, living in the good graces of the demon who was once her lover, the one she's unable to forgive. But upon meeting this perky pyromaniac she unexpectedly fell for, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. Charlie x Willow May contain some possibly disturbing and dark themes. Critics would be nice too. Critic is great.
1. Prologue

Their last act had been a disaster.

The worst disaster that could ever affect them.

The shadowy hands. The cold sensation she felt when they dragged her in. The horrified shrieks of their audience. Maxwell's heart-piercing cry of terror. The darkness that came after. It still terrified Charlie to this day, whenever it came in mind.

Their shows had almost never gone wrong. Sure, their shows had been initially a flop in their early days when Maxwell was simply William Carter. There might have been the occasional injury for William during performance ("Please be careful next time," Charlie would beg him as she nursed the poor gentleman). But ever since William had his hand on this book, deemed the Codex Umbra, every show always had the crowd astounded, breathless, and then jumping to their feet and breaking out in wild applause.

That book… At first, it was what led to the height of their success. Replacing those lousy magic props, it was what set the crowd on the edge of their seats. Its mysterious power always made for a grand show. With their names known among San Francisco, practically every known being in the great city clambering to see their shows, it was the Codex Umbra they had to thank.

Both for the fame and the disaster.

Charlie had been swift to notice the Codex Umbra was no ordinary book that had been through disrepair. She came to notice those illusions may not quite be just illusions from the magician's skillful hand, but something else beyond the work of her William. It could practically be considered as something sentient, which only added to the factors of it's abnormality. Over time, William had even changed. Perhaps it was the book to blame for this transition he went through. After all, it all started a few weeks after they got their hands on that book. Or maybe it was the fame, getting to his head, making him delusional in the midst of all the glamour. But Charlie was likely to blame the former. It was that book that ruined everything.

Everything.

At first Maxwell had been an on-stage persona, someone William would transform into the moment he stepped on the stage. And the differences between them, if you were to know both, couldn't be any more drastic. William was awkward, gauche, and not all too sophisticated. He was a timid man who stuttered over his words, an invalid old British man with lanky limbs and huge glasses.

Maxwell was a suave being, charming and mysterious. He was smooth with his words, confidence radiating off him with every movement, and the old fellow knew how to play his cards right. William grew to love his new identity, the one people knew him as on-stage. Maxwell was everything William would strive to be. And he did. He adored the Maxwell persona so much; he stuck with it for the rest of his days.

He eventually asked Charlie, and everyone around him, to call him Maxwell (or 'Maxy' as Charlie would affectionately call him). He started to grow increasingly upset when referred to by his true name. With each passing day, as he practiced the skill of using dark magic, unaware of the prodigious power these dark forces brought, he grew to saw William was a meek, pathetic one. Maxwell grew to abhor the man he once lived as.

Soon William was no more.

And soon the infamous incident happened. The Great Maxwell and his assistant mysteriously disappeared one day during an act. No return. The irony of it all was that it's supposed to be their greatest.

The Great Maxwell in his finest suit, his beautiful Charlie in all her glamour and beauty, both taking more practices for this than for any other show, making sure this was going to be the perfect show, the one certain to leave their audience flabbergasted and blabbing about for days.

And it gone all wrong. So horribly wrong.

The island was her home now. After a hearty meal, Charlie had always fled to the camp before a thick sheet of blackness, the embrace of the deadly night, covered the island completely. Years on the island developed a fear of the night.

Snuggled in a tent roll, Charlie prepared to sleep the night. But it never came, for her cumbersome thoughts buzzed in her head like flies. Her tossing and turning for a more comfortable position didn't prevail. It was lonely on the island. Incredibly lonely. She lost track of how long she had lived there. All she had for company was the skittish little rabbits in the savanna, the village of semi-intelligent pigmen some distance away (while friendly enough, they hardly provided any stimulating conversation for Charlie), and the numerous beasts of terror. None of them made good company, especially the beasts.

But perhaps the worst thing about the island was how they changed Maxwell. What had he become. Yes, he had changed before they came here, not absolutely drastic. Some might consider the transition from William to Maxwell a good thing. That first change made him a better showman, and while it was the sweet William she initially fell for, Maxwell had never failed to sweep her off her feet neither.

Until now. Whenever she thought of him now, her heart shattered completely. Now a demon with no consideration, using manipulation and trickery to lure others to the island, only to fool with them for his own wicked amusement Charlie had thought would never exist in him. He became a complete monster, and this new Maxwell terrified her.

Day by day, some part of her clung onto the hope that somewhere, inside the amoral and corrupt demon Maxwell transformed into, there was still a trace of William Carter in him. Perhaps there was, as he treated Charlie well. He provided her everything it would come to survive; plenty of materials, very few obstacles, as little battles. She was on the demon's good graces and while grateful at first, that soon twisted in a heart-gnawing guilt.

The others? They lived with what they got, and Maxwell never failed to take enjoyment out of sending bloodthirsty hounds to attack them in the night, or a sudden precipitation of aggressive amphibians. She came across another survivor one or two times, often inviting them to her place. None of them lasted long.

But other than Maxwell's treatment of Charlie, the twinge of hope of William still around diminish with each passing day. His blatant negligence to the other survivors, an injustice compared to how he treats Charlie, his villainy, his twisted morals,

Charlie found she couldn't forgive that, or continue loving him, not what he turned out to be in the end. She missed William dearly, the gentleman. His gentle blue eyes, his affection, the way he'd lavish her endlessly and treated her in all the right ways, William was far from what Maxwell turned out to be.

It was a long time before she could fall asleep.


	2. Encounter

_Stupid…_

The axe blade swung, slicing into the dense bark of the tree.

 _Shit-eating…_

Another swung, and the blade sliced deeper.

 _That bastard…_

Another swing.

 _I hate him!_

One more…

 _So. Fucking. Much._

With a final snarl, the blade cut through the whole of the tree trunk. The fallen tree toppled over before landing with a heavy thud. The young woman, responsible for chopping, was quick to retrieve the wood, still fuming. Her nails dug onto the stubborn wood.

 _Next time I see him, I'll personally make sure he is dead._

Still seething with rage, Willow took it all out on another nearby tree. She hacked at it again, working her muscles, transferring all that fury into power with each heavy swing. Within moments, another tree was down, more wood to collect.

The memory still turn in her head. The faithful day a voice on the radio offered her freedom. It offered her a place where fire was essential to life, where she'll never be an outcast again. It sounded too good to be true, considering this from a talking radio as we speak, but Willow was desperate considering her current situation.

She accepted. And it might have been the worst mistake of her life.

Cold, black hands seized her. Dragged her down. Nobody heard her shrieks or struggle. As hard as she resisted, they were too strong. Within moments, all she could sense was the cold, empty, blackness choking her.

And then his voice came again, _mocking_ her.

"Say pal," Came his husky voice, his tone suggesting a bored and laid-back demeanor. The picture of nonchalance, the tall gentleman chewed on his cigarette. He idly watched the fainted with a sly grin, while the exhausted woman struggled to comprehend. Exhaustion made her too weak to react to his presence. The most she could do was crack open her eyes and try to focus upon his features through a blurry vision.

"You don't look so good,"

That voice… It was him. Was he true to his word? Did he get her what she wanted? What was going on?  
"You better find something to eat before night comes." With a dark chuckle, the gentleman disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Willow pushed herself up, trying to focus. She was in some sort of meadow, with flowers and trees and grass scattered around the scene. Was this the place promised?

Technically it was, but it wasn't the place Willow had in mind.

Eventually she found out. He tricked her, fooled her into arriving to this hell! Stranded her here with nothing but her lighter! The realization sent shock, then fury through her veins. How dare he!

 _He. Will. Pay._

For just a moment, she considered just setting everything on fire, letting his stupid island burn. Letting all this greenery go up in one huge bonfire.

And then she realized how idiotic that course of actions would be. Doing so would mean no supplies or anything she could use for survival. There doesn't seem to be any exit ticket in this dump, so she'll just have to survive and explore until she found it. Surely there was a way to escape, right?

So she contented herself with chopping down trees after a hand-crafted axe came into her possession. She chopped away, falling down all the trees in her wake. She found more potentially useful items, namely tufts of grass, some sticks, some flint, and some rocks. She found some berry bushes, and even one or two carrots sticking from the ground. She explored and chopped all she could until the sun came down.

Willow had her Girl Scout skills handy. Having earned all the badges in the Girl Scout, she knew all the basics in the rare case she'd ever land herself in a situation like this. It all came naturally to her now. _Now,_ she thought to herself, _They're gonna come in handy. You messed with the wrong person, old man._

Taking notice of the darkening sky, Willow was quick to build a campfire. The island was soon swallowed by complete darkness, all except for she and her flames. Willow sat back, feeling her anger ebb away into contentment as she watched the hot flames in silence.

Fire was her best friend. It had always been a friend, a companion. Fire never bullied her, called her insane, or threw her in a mental hospital against her will. It never spat on her or call her "a fire freak." It never called her a monster. It never called her a 'harlot' or a 'floozy'. It didn't call her any hurtful nicknames.

It soothed her. That's all it did. When things were at it's lowest point, when Willow found herself unable to go on, fire helped her. Just seeing that ball of orange, red, and yellow, flickering and burning right before her eyes. Willow found herself mesmerized, relaxed, her mind focused on the flames. In all the twenty-four years she had existed, fire had help her go through her rough life. This is why she carried around the lighter, her lucky lighter. Together, she and her light made an excellent team

"I can do this," Willow sighed, watching the sparking campfire in adoration, "It can't be so bad, right?"

Yes, the next few days went on without much incident. Willow scavenged whatever she found, gathering any materials along the way that would come in good use. She made a pickaxe, and as a result, was able to strike both rock and gold. Good process, she made, grinning to herself as she scooped up her prizes. Soon enough, she'll be able to conquer anything.

If Maxwell thought she wouldn't last long, he'll have to rethink that.

 _Take that, you old hag_.

Feeling a burst of confidence, Willow headed along. Caught up in her own pride, nose too high, the girl hardly notice the shift in ground texture. From a firm, grassy ground, it soon developed a leathery texture underfoot. Only the squelching noises produced from her steps placed Willow down to earth. And the women glanced down, she noticed her feet sinking in the slightest into boggy ground.

"Eww," Grimacing, she lightly shook the wet soil from her heels. Turns out she entered a swamp. After much hesitation, Willow continued her travel. No big. She'll just head along and maybe exit this gross place.

Her attention shifted towards an area bubbling. Evidently wary of that particular spot, she made haste to steer clear from it. Unfortunate dear was oblivious to how perilous this area served to be. She stepped on another patch of bubbling, soggy soil.

And something huge arose.

She swore her life flashed before her eyes. The shock that coursed through her veins controlled her next course of actions. And thus, it saved herself from a missing eye… Or worse.

Emitting a screech of surprise, she leaped back just in time as a tentacle whipped into sight. It made it's agitation blatant, as the creature thrashed and whipped about, the deadly spikes protruding from the tip poised for murder. Willow stumbled back, feeling her heart pound against her hand as she watched creature's ferocity take form, before it finally relaxed enough to slip back to the surface.

Willow watched it warily, breathing hard, eyes wide with horror. That thing could have impaled her. Gore an eye out. Or at the least, leave her with some nasty wounds that could get infected. Shuddering, she made herself keep going, eyes fixated upon the soggy ground. Now she knew; the bubbles alerted the presence of tentacles. All she had to was keep a sharp eye out for any bubbling grounds, and steer clear. Once or twice, she did encounter more tentacles. Only she was more prepared, leaping back at the purple creatures sprang out.

"Ha," She hissed as she dodged another, "You think you can tear me down. Not today."

It was a massive relief when the ground changed again. It lacked the soft, grassy texture of the ground she walked on before the swamp, but at least she got out of that god-forsaken place.

Willow took a moment to glance around. The area had thinned out into a rather large bridge, smaller than the swamp. Willow could see both edges had sloped down a few feet, crumbling away into a massive expanse of swirling grey waves. The ground, in contrast to the swamp's waterlogged soil, was smooth and sun-baked rock. Bones littered the area, either separate or gathered in jagged piles.

 _Yeesh_ , Willow shuddered. She couldn't exactly tell where those bones had come from. One thing was evident; this place gave her the willies.

Willow perked up at the sound of faint barking. Were there doggies there? Judging by how deep and rough the series of barks sounded, the idea of these dogs being friendly, well-tamed house pets was implausible, laughable even. No, those sounded like wild, killer dogs, with a jaw to crush windpipes and teeth to rip apart flesh. She was suddenly wary.

One of them was running forward! Instinctively, Willow gathered her weapon. It was a pretty large hound alright, with a smooth black coat and large, jagged fangs, thin strands of saliva between their teeth enhancing the terrifying aspect of it's appearance.

The girl was ready. The moment this monster pounced, she bought her axe down on it's head. It was so satisfying, seeing blood spurt from the injury made by her well-timed blow.

There was a yelp of pain, before the hound, fueled by the rage Willow invoked, snapped at her legs.

Willow only dodged in time before it would have closed around her leg. Willow swung again, dodged, and then aimed another blow. The hound did succeed in sinking it's teeth into one of her free arms.

Screeching in pain, growing desperate, the combatant swung her axe at the diligent hound, aiming blow after blow, until in pain it released her bloodied arm from it's lethal fangs.

Taking advantage, Willow proceeded to beat back the hound with even more swings, unable that the sound of fighting had lured the rest. Just as her foe lay dead at her feet, the temporarily victorious Willow turned to meet _more_ of those beasts pounding at her.

Oh fuck, one had been bad enough. But there was _no way in hell_ she could take on all of these creatures and run. The brain screamed at her to flee, to head to the swamp and never look back. _But I could run into a tentacle!_

 _This is it. I don't think I could make it._ It was either speared to death by tentacles or get ripped apart by these bloodthirsty dogs.

She chose the latter, turning around to tear into the treacherous land again.

Too late. One had succeeded in biting her ankle and pulling back, sending her reeling to the floor with a sharp gasp as blood gusted from where the hound's teeth was.

She practically felt the hounds pounce on herself, already imaging their teeth tearing her limb from bloody limb, biting and scratching and ripping violently until she was another bloody carcass to be next meal.

The pain never came. Before the hounds could finish off their stunned prey, there was a sudden, soft tune played from the distance. The hounds stopped suddenly, remained frozen in the spot for a moment, and began to wobble on their feet.

The next moment, they all collapsed. Willow felt the weight of one of them flop upon her back. Confused, Willow could only raise her head to find out what stopped these predators from making the kill.

They fell asleep. As Willow took it all in with a wide-eyed glance, she heard the footsteps grow closer.

 _Oh God, please don't be another monster._ This island had already proven itself to be dangerous. Perhaps overconfidence led her to this…

"Are you okay?"

A woman's voice sounded above her, soft with a hint of British accent, and a tone filled with anxiety at this moment. She felt the weight of one of the hounds disappear. With obvious effort on her part, the injured black-haired lady tried to push herself to her feet to meet this new one. She succeeded, glancing up to see her for the first time.

Not even the faint layer of dirt or the disheveled condition of her black locks could deteriorate this lady's beauty completely. Through a gentle dark brown gaze, now full of concern for Willow, she glanced down at her.

"I… think I'm okay," Willow muttered. Blood still trickled from the wounds on her arm and ankles, and as her mind took this into considerable, suddenly dizziness pounded in her head.

"Steady," She stood closer, letting Willow lean on her despite her shorter stature, "I'll fix up your wounds,"

"W-Who're you," She murmured. She may be vulnerable and weak at this moment, hardly able to support herself in her current position, but part of her couldn't help but to feel suspicious. Willow hardly had a taste of how dangerous and deadly this island could be, so why is this woman offering to sacrifice some of the much-needed items she had to help this stranger?

"Call me Charlie," A small smile graced her rosy lips, "Come with me. Don't you worry. Some poultices and a bit of rest is what you'll need."

Maybe she was just a bit too generous. In that case, Willow couldn't complain. Those two? She'll definitely need. And she might have just saved her life had she been the one who produced that melody that set those hounds to sleep. Wobbling lightly, she allowed Charlie to guide her away.


End file.
